’Tis the season! I might be grasping at straws, but last weekend found me rejoicing, because it is grilling season. The hot, splattery world of cooking is moving outdoors. And while we are not singing around the campfire just yet, it feels like we have turned a little corner in our Covid-narrowed world. Maybe there is some relief ahead of us. I’ll wave to you over the back fence.

A year ago we became a Farm Family, buying a subscription to a small local poultry farm, which provided us with a whole chicken and 2 dozen gorgeous eggs every month. It’s not that we knew these chickens personally, but we feel a closer connection, and take more care when thinking about preparing them. Roasted chicken is my go-to meal – I could be happy with roasted chicken and rice every night of the week. But during the warmer months, when I happily cede cooking rights and privileges to Mr. Friday, we experiment.

Last Saturday night we spatchcocked that chicken. Spatchcocking makes it easier to grill a chicken in one layer, without overcooking or undercooking. Spatchcock is said to be shorthand for “dispatching the cock” – which means to open and flatten the chicken in order to cook it. I had to avert my eyes for the final, bone-crunching crack of its back, coward that I am. Julia Child would be disappointed in me, I know. But she would have poured Mr. Friday another glass of wine, and marched him off to the grill. This is a handy-dandy video: https://www.saveur.com/how-spatchcock-chicken/

I suspect that Mr. Friday chose this Grilled Spatchcocked Greek Chicken recipe because it came up first in his Google search, but it was quite deelish. https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/food-network-kitchen/grilled-spatchcocked-greek-chicken-3364920 It took more time to hunt and gather the ingredients than the time spent actually grilling. We had to take two masked trips to the market because dried oregano is just not the same as fresh. Nor is dried dill acceptable when you can fill the air with roughly chopped dill aroma as you whip up the marinade. Note: be careful not to grate your fingertips along with the 3 cloves of garlic.

After spatchcocking the bird we poured half of the marinade mixture (and the chicken) into a large plastic bag, and popped the bag into the fridge for an hour. Assiduously, Mr. Friday set the timer. And when the bird came out of the fridge, it sat, patted dry, at room temp, for half an hour. During the timed intervals we washed the asparagus, made a green salad, and whipped the cream for a chocolate cream pie for dessert. Remember, I warned you last week that everyone is going to gain 5 pounds during this quarantine period.

Mr. Friday prefers a gas grill, and used a meat thermometer to be sure he was following directions. I was busy adding green onions and the dill to the remaining marinade, which drizzled nicely over the well-cooked, and rested, spatchcocked chicken. We added the asparagus, candles, wine and Red Granger Radio. And then there was pie. Welcome summer grilling!

I read an alarming factoid the other day – that we are all going to pack on 5 pounds during the lockdown. We certainly aren’t going out to eat, but we are cooking like crazy. And cooking leads to eating.

We are desperate to keep busy and amused. We might not be learning any new languages in this house, but we are slowly checking off the no-longer-avoidable items on our To Do list. One thing leads to another, and then everything snowballs. We have painted the railings on the back porch. Which led to the observation that the gutters were dirty. Then we weeded and mulched a couple of flower beds, and I found the reading glasses I lost last year. Then we planted the annual crop of tomatoes and basil. Inside we have done a deep cleaning of windows and baseboards, and changed beds into their summer linens. Every inch of the master bathroom has been scoured. And we never realized how much Luke the wonder dog sheds.

While organizing the pantry I unearthed a large, unopened (yet not expired) tin of cocoa powder. Hmmm. What could I do with a large tin of cocoa? Mr. Friday likes chocolate quite a lot, so it is a mystery why we hadn’t consumed this pricey container. I had to find a way to use it. Turning to Google, I found lists. And more lists. Did I want to make a face masque? I think not. https://www.stylecraze.com/articles/5-chocolate-face-masks-with-detailed-steps-and-pictures/

A cup of cocoa? A little obvious, but it is also 75 degrees outside. Or I could sprinkle it over fruit. That will take a minute and a half, tops. I needed an afternoon-long project – I don’t feel like cleaning another bathroom yet. How about brownies? Well, then I have to justify the box of Ghiradelli brownie mix already in the pantry. Here is a list of other delightful cocoa powder possibilities: https://www.tasteofhome.com/collection/cocoa-powder-recipes/

I decided on chocolate biscotti, for the novelty and because I did have all the ingredients (for once) lined up in our temporarily tidy pantry. Chocolate biscotti will fill the sad, lonely void in our crazy socially-distanced world. And the espresso needed for dipping will keep me active for hours.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper. Sift together the flour, cocoa, salt and baking soda; set aside.
Cream together the brown sugar, granulated sugar and butter for 3 to 5 minutes at medium speed. Add vanilla extract and espresso. Mix for 10 seconds. Add eggs one at a time, mixing for 10 seconds at medium-low speed after each addition. Add sifted flour mixture and mix at low speed until dough comes together, 1 to 2 minutes. Add chocolate chips and mix just until chips are evenly incorporated, 15 to 20 seconds.

Transfer dough to a work surface and divide in two, shaping into balls. Form each ball into a log 1 1/2 to 2 inches wide. Transfer logs to prepared baking sheet and flatten slightly. Brush tops of logs with egg wash and sprinkle each log with 1 tablespoon raw sugar. Bake until biscotti have spread, have a few cracks and bounce back slightly when pressed with fingertips, 30 to 40 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool completely, about 1 1/2 hours.
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Using a sharp knife, cut logs into 1/4-inch to 1/2-inch slices. Place each slice with a cut side down on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper or nonstick liner. Bake until firm, crisp and slightly dry, about 15 minutes. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to three days, or freeze for up to three months.

Upcoming is painting the front porch, and mulching the corner of the back yard now that I have torn out all of the neighbor’s invasive ivy. I’m still bingeing on Grey’s Anatomy – only 14 more seasons to go! Thank goodness we have plenty of biscotti to get us through this emergency. Take care of yourself, and wear your mask!

“Just speak very loudly and quickly, and state your position with utter conviction, as the French do, and you’ll have a marvelous time!”
― Julia Child

I don’t know what day of the week it is anymore. All the days and weeks are beginning to blend together. I look forward to the reassuring regularity of our homemade pizza on Friday night, but how else are we marking our time in lockdown? I’m streaming Grey’s Anatomy re-runs – back to the beginning when Sandra Oh injected some much-missed tough love – so I don’t even know what decade it is. The garden is burgeoning, but it has been an odd rainy week so I haven’t gotten outside much. It’s just me and Luke the wonder dog, taking our walks, staring at each other, as I sit cross hatching away at the drawing table every day. Then Mr. Friday comes home for dinner, and somehow we scape together meals and have conversations. We are feeling adrift. (I speak for myself, Luke seems happy except for the walks in the rain. As long as the kibble is produced twice a day he is content. And he prefers Patrick Dempsey to Sandra Oh.)

To break up the boredom of our four walls, carefully masked, we ventured to the local farmers’ market last Saturday, and got an eyeful of what is going on in the big wide world – it is strawberry season. Beautiful emerald asparagus is shooting up. Parakeet-green basil is bursting. We saw something splendid called watermelon radishes – which were a major discovery: beige on the outside, inside bright fuchsia pink and white. They were beautiful to look at, disappointingly bland and tough to eat, and surprisingly stinky when quick pickled.

The farmers’ seasons are relentless, cyclical and constant, and I hope the coronavirus can’t stop that. The beautiful colors, shapes and flavors of these just picked fruits and vegetables are astounding. The person on the other side of the market table can tell me when the vegetable was picked, and who picked it. You can’t process this experience with chemicals and put it in a can on a shelf at the grocery store. You need to bring your bag down to your market, and taste for yourself. It’s just like your mother always said, it is good for you. So get out in the sunshine and get ready for summer. Even with the restraints imposed by social distancing there was a lot of cheery bustle at the market last week. It was good to see people – even though we are all masked and unidentifiable. Thank goodness. If you could see my hair right now…

Saturday we will buzz down to the farmer’s market again, and will stock up on more asparagus for our Memorial Day Weekend. Of course we will be flipping burgers, as is only fitting for the traditional beginning of summer. Only this year we won’t have a crowd. It will be just us, waving to the neighbors over the hedge. And we will be having our own tiny Sparglefest this year. Asparagus grilled one night, broiled another, and lightly steamed on Sunday.

I hope next year we can all have family gatherings and cookouts again. This week I have bought a box of sparklers for the grownups, and we’ll wave them at the children when we have our family Zoom call. Thank heavens for technology. If we were going through this pandemic back when Grey’s Anatomy started in 2005 we’d still be communicating by land lines and flip phones. And our Netflix would be coming in the mail.

The wise scientists are saying that we should get outdoors and into some sunlight on a regular basis. It might be time to open our front doors a crack, and step cautiously outside, following state-mandated COVID-19 requirements. They say that the coronavirus doesn’t seem to spread easily in the great outdoors, although we should be mindful of social distancing, masks and hand sanitation. I say some sunshine is just what the doctor has ordered. I’ll be wearing a hat, my ubiquitous mask, and will be slathered in sunscreen this weekend as I track down a You-Pick-It strawberry farm. It is an opportunity to get out of the house, and go someplace other than the petri dish that is our weekly visit to the grocery store.

If you can’t visit a farm, lots of farmers markets are devising safe contactless ways for us to produce and grocery shop. Call ahead, or visit their websites, so you can support our local food producers. You do not want all those luscious strawberries to go to waste!

A few weeks ago we bought some strawberries (from California) at the grocery store. I have a limited repertoire of strawberry recipes, because why mess with perfection? Strawberry shortcake has always seemed the natural answer for what to do with a couple of pints of strawberries. And like my mother before me, I reached for the trusty box of Bisquick that always stands on a shelf in the pantry. Did I check the expiration date on the box? Of course not. I hate to admit this, for once the child was right.

We laugh that one of our children always checks expiration labels. I don’t worry about them much, because things seem to fly off the shelves with great and alarming regularity. He checks religiously, assiduously, and obsessively, one might say. I guess he was deeply scarred by eating something that was stale once, and now it is his one of his weird character traits. (Obviously I have bigger things to worry about – like what the heck did I plant in all those little seed starters? The Sharpie marker label faded away, and now I have several pots of burgeoning mystery plants, without a clue as to what will emerge once they all bloom. That’s a real worry.)

For our strawberry shortcake dessert I mixed up a batch of Bisquick shortcake dough (following the recipe on the side of the box, as one does), rolled it out and cut out six little rounds with the ancestral biscuit cutter, and popped those babies in the oven. I cleaned the strawberries, sliced and sugared them before pouring water (with a little lemon juice) over the slices to lightly macerate them. I whipped the cream, and enjoyed licking the beaters by myself, because I don’t have any pesky know-it-all children here to share with.

And then the oven timer went off. Ding. Flat-as-pancake shortcakes lay sullenly on the cookie sheet. Back into the oven for another couple of minutes, just to see if they needed a little more baking time. Nope. Nothing was going to fix these now dark brown and scorched hockey pucks. They were as leaden and heavy as if I had attempted sourdough bread again. And they sailed right into the trash.

We had delicious strawberries and whipped cream for dessert. Then I sadly examined the Bisquick box playing Kitchen CSI. In bold type there was a Best-Served-By date of 2016. Whoops. So I have to take it all back, Tall One. You were right. Check the damn dates.

Last weekend I tried a Dorie Greenspan recipe for “Tumble-Jumble Strawberry Tart” which was just divine. It was basically a dense lemony shortbread, slathered with strawberry jam, fresh sliced strawberries and whipped cream. The cake is not supposed to rise. I managed to avoid more humiliation until I can get back to the grocery store and buy a new box of Bisquick. Or this might take the place of the old family secret recipe, since not only was it delicious, you can make it ahead of time, and freeze the crust. Genius. It is a new take on one of our favorite springtime desserts. Imagine trying this with peaches, or raspberries, or any seasonal fruit. Things may be looking up!

Nobody’s going out to dinner these days. Instagram isn’t filled with those envy-inducing shots of tantalizing dishes at gastropubs and haute chophouses, with hard-to-score reservations and Michelin stars. There isn’t much fancy cooking going on anyplace, as we all huddle in our home kitchens and try to sustain ourselves actually and aesthetically. Everyone is down with simple cooking. And some days it’s difficult to move past the skills necessary to open and eat a box of Cap’n Crunch.

I have to admit that I am always a little slow to see what is trending. I guess it’s because I’m not glued to the internet all day long, and some things just pass me by. And that can be a good thing. I’ve missed out on the Kardashians, Dancing with the Stars, quinoa, Tiger King, K-pop, emojis, Tik Tok, and now sour dough bread.

Everyone who is anyone is baking competitive loaves of sour dough bread, and then posting the images on Instagram and Facebook and one suspects, Snapchat, if one was cool enough to have a Snapchat following. People don’t only post their bragging success photos – they are very proud to show you their big fat failures: the loaves of sour dough bread that could double for Olympic curling stones.

If I had sour dough starter to begin with, I am sure that that’s where my bread would be categorized – heavy, leaden, inedible loaves that could serve as door stops. Luckily, no sour dough starter has materialized in our kitchen. I would probably kill it, anyway.

There are ways to make your own sour dough starter. But frankly, I have started painting the back porch, and that’s one project I would like to finish in time for summer. But here is a little guidance if you have more time on your hands, and need a project: https://www.feastingathome.com/sourdough-starter/

I have had successes and massive failures baking bread. The failures came because I am impatient, and cannot wait for the bread to rise, often over night. When I start to bake, I would like immediate gratification. That’s why brownies are always so satisfying. Even Mark Bittman’s No-Knead Bread requires time and patience. It calls for a 24-hour prep time. https://www.markbittman.com/recipes-1/no-knead-bread
And yes, it is very tasty, eventually.

These are easy directions – you can start after lunch and have tasty, fresh, piping hot focaccia for dinner. My favorite part was poking the little dimples into the dough after it has risen. And then artfully scattering the rosemary leaves, which I picked from the plant running wild in the container garden. (The rosemary plant has thrived outside even through the past two winters. It is an amazement to me.)

I just loved baking this focaccia in the cast iron skillet. I’m adding it to the list of good foods that can be prepared in just one pan – always a plus in my book because most of the time I am the designated dishwasher. It was crispy and crusty and tasted divine dipped in a small saucer of olive oil and garlic, salt, pepper, dried oregano and basil. It is practically a meal unto itself. Add salad and wine, and if you are being really pesky, an entrée. Mr. Friday and I gobbled up half a pan, which left half a pan to go in the freezer, that we hauled out delightedly a few nights later. Food in the freezer = money in the bank and less prep time. More time to paint the back porch, or weed the lettuce bed, or sneak in another episode of “Run”. Use your quarantine time wisely.

May is National Salad Month.It is also National Barbecue Month, National Hamburger Month, and National Strawberry Month. It is going to be a good month for eating. I hope our quarantine condition lessens it constraints soon, but in the meantime, we have lots of garden planning and digging to do.

Now is a good time to get a jump on cool-season vegetables. You can start the annual competition with the deer and rabbits for the finest lettuces, broccoli and spinach. We are going to try some mixed, loose-leaf, heat tolerant lettuces this year. I want to enjoy the practical concepts of growing our own lettuce, with an eye to the enviable.

That is always the best part of gardening, seeing everything in your mind’s eye in the gauzy Instagram future. Somehow there I am always wearing a float-y white outfit as I drop my bountiful harvest into my antique garden basket. I love the way I am always in total denial about mosquitoes and fiery ant bites.

This morning I snuck out of our quarantine shutdown and ran, carefully masked, to the grocery store where I was appalled to see that this price – $4.09 for a single puny bag of pre-washed mixed spring greens! Holy smokes! We are fighting back. Last weekend we shopped locally, and we bought some lettuce plants at our charming independent hardware store (along with some very attractive tomato plants) and we spent the quarantined weekend elbow deep in the dirt in the garden.

We are watching the new garden with the anxiety level of people in search of a new binge-worthy Netflix show. When Mr. Friday wanders out of his home office (the kitchen table) around 6, we amble outside with glasses of cheap white wine, tossing the ball for Luke the wonder dog, and then we circle the newly rabbit-proof-fenced garden. The first blossoms on a tomato plants were duly noted on Wednesday. Right now the lettuces are scarcely large enough to interest the neighborhood bunnies. But still, we dream.

We dream about lettuce wraps, and salads. Deelish medleys of chopped and sautéed vegetables and tender meats wrapped in brilliant green lettuce leaves, grown in our own back yard. Or a bowl heaped with crisp fresh lettuce leaves, peppers and tomatoes, topped with sizzling slices of steak. It has been a very long winter, hasn’t it, that now we are dreaming in these lengthy days of social distancing of the golden glories of summer harvests and parties with friends? The weeding hasn’t even begun and we are hurling ourselves into the future, with delusional projections of bumper crops. It will be the best vegetable garden ever, our eight foot by 4 foot allotment of expensive, perfect, bug-free, pesticide-free veggies.

Is there anything more boring than an iceberg lettuce salad? It is nothing but tasteless, crunchy water, slathered in oleaginous dressings, dotted with hot house tomatoes, sprinkled with stale croutons. Do you remember Bac’n Bits – those leathery maroon soy flakes that purportedly tasted like bacon? I am much happier now that I fry my croutons in bacon fat, and then crunch that real bacon up and scatter it on my salad, not overlooking a smackeral for my constant, dogging companion. How about orange French dressing? Now we can hurl a garlic clove into a bowl, douse it with good oil and vinegar and salt, and there we have it, the best salad dressing ever. Holy smokes, the times have changed, and everything salad-wise keeps getting better.

Personally I could never understand the appeal of the wedge salad. Whack a wedge out of a head of iceberg lettuce, dribble it in bottled blue cheese dressing, serve it on a minimalistic square plate and charge $9 for it. I could do that at home, except that I wouldn’t. I would rather eat something a little more flavorful and deelicious. How about you?

Heat the bacon fat in a small frying pan, add the crushed garlic clove and toss the bread cubes in the hot fat until bread is brown and crunchy. Drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and thyme.

Put the lettuce in a bowl (we like to use a large, shallow wooden bowl), and drizzle with some olive oil. Toss the lettuce well, in a bold, jolly fashion, adding squirts of lemon juice and a dash or two of Worcestershire and coat the leaves well. Add the Parmesan cheese and toss briskly. Put on plates, or in shallow bowls, add the crouton if there are any left. (Generally our kitchen help tests the crouton and we have very few to add to the salads. Thus the serving for two.)

Enjoy! Any wine will do.

Here are a couple of helpful salad dressing links from Martha and Food52:

What are you cooking for dinner tonight? When was the last time you went to the grocery store? We felt like we had money in the bank when we pulled the baked ziti container out of the freezer Monday morning. A couple of weeks ago we made two batches, and cleverly stashed one away for a rainy day. And it rained on Monday. But we had a nice, easy meal ready in half an hour, complete with bread (from the frozen bread stash) and a green salad and candlelight. There was enough leftover for us to re-heat on Wednesday night, so it was another simple meal.

It is just the two of us right now. We miss those nights of chaos when we cooked for, and with, the children. There are plenty of households right now with families who are pent up inside together all day, who have to make complicated decisions about dinner and shopping, and who is cooking, and how everyone can help. It is a great time to for everyone to walk away from the virtual classes, and share a hands-on cooking experience with your kids.

A child who knows their way around the kitchen is independent, and better prepared for the future. A child who knows how to boil water for pasta, how to roll out dough, how to wash lettuce, and how to pick out fruit and vegetables will thrive. While they work by your side, you have a more opportunities to be a better parent, and share family stories and recipes while teaching someone to count out tablespoons, cups, ounces, pinches, dollops and soupçons. You will learn patience, and your children might thank you someday. (Spoiler alert: don’t count on that.) You will travel together, and these days of social distancing might become a warm memory.

Our first cooking experiences with our children came in the form of homemade pizza. I still have the photos to prove that initially we wore more flour than we seemed to actually knead. Eventually, in weekly progressions, we learned to make a decent dough. We experimented and tweaked the recipe every week – more flour, different flour, more water, more kneading. This is why Mark Bittman is our household god: https://www.markbittman.com/recipes-1/pizza-dough

Our children stood on Rubbermaid stools so they could reach the counter as we learned to measure level cups of flour, and level teaspoons of yeast and salt, and to pour tablespoons of olive oil without spilling. The dog was particularly found of these cooking interludes, as the dog believed in the magic of gravity and the bounce factor associated with falling food; particularly pepperoni, and mozzarella cheese as it was grated.

Using a box grater requires patience and some skill acquired with experience. Knuckles were grated, too, and tears ensued. But we all learned to be more careful, and discovered it is best to keep a box of BandAids in a kitchen drawer. But mozzarella cheese grating leads to Parmesan grating and then to lemon zesting and onward to fresh nutmeg, which leads to Fettuccine Alfredo. Which leads to learning to boil water, and then salting it before adding the pasta. Which leads from store-bought fettuccine to fresh homemade fettuccine. Which leads to someone reading a menu in a restaurant, and realizing that someone knows how to made pizza, or fettuccine, or eggs over easy.

It all starts at home. Jamie Oliver, who at last count has five children, learned how to cook with his parents, and he encourages his own children in the kitchen. It might be his way of crowd control, but his children seem to thrive in the kitchen. They aren’t whining for junk food. They know how to eat real food, because they know how to cook real food. https://www.jamieoliver.com/features/family-cooking-recipes-to-cook-together/

It doesn’t need to be fancy. Three ingredient cookies are easy, and most of the time you have all of the ingredients in the house, without needing to don your mask and head for the germs at the grocery store.

Roll into balls, and roll balls in sugar before baking equals sugar cookies

Preheat oven to 325°F. In a large bowl, using a hand mixer, beat butter and sugar together until light and fluffy, then stir in flour.
Form the cookies into 1-inch balls, placing them about 2 inches apart on a baking sheet. (Add sprinkles if you’ve got them.) Flatten cookies into a disc shape with a juice glass dipped in sugar. Bake for 15 to 17 minutes, or until the edges of the cookies are lightly golden.

If you can take your kids to the farmers’ markets, where they can meet (at a safe social distance) the people who grow their food, they might have a whole new appreciation for the meals that you bring to their table every day and night. It won’t happen overnight, because nothing ever does, but if you start to introduce them with regularity to the local food chain, we will all be healthier for it.

Don’t think you will send them off to Le Cordon Bleu next week. Start small. Teach them to wash lettuce. You will have to learn to share that exciting salad spinner. And there is a lot of fun to be had in tearing the lettuce, and then learning how to peel carrots. This is just the beginning for the children, and right now we have plenty of time to spend together in the kitchen.

“Good food is very often, even most often, simple food.”
― Anthony Bourdain

We are trying to maintain a cheery outlook and some degree of sanity as we plod along in this new pandemic, cooped-up world. Mr. Friday works from home, at the kitchen table most days, while I am toiling in the studio. We chat on bathroom breaks and when I wander out to the kitchen for a swig of Diet Coke. We meet in the middle, at the kitchen counter, for lunch, where we discuss our dinner plans. Remember the glory days of going out for dinner? Sigh. We do, too.

Our weekends loom large and there are only so many home projects we can collaborate on before a little friction wears our taut tempers even thinner. Last weekend we primed and painted a dozen replacement window shutters for the house. They are still sitting in the garage on Thursday morning waiting for the final coat of paint. Then I emptied out the window boxes for said windows, and planted them with expensive, yet such tiny, petunias, impatiens, sweet potato vines and lobelia. (You can barely see them from the street!) The front of the house looks tidier. The side of the house, with two other window boxes I completely forgot about, looks sad and neglected. I promise I will get around to it this weekend.

Last weekend we also emptied out, culled and reorganized the freezer, and catalogued the remaining contents. It is amazing what we will do for entertainment these days. Other people watch Netflix on their individual screens in remote parts of their apartments, and we decide it would be fun to clean out the refrigerator. Together.

Happily, we now have the bread collection under control. It is amazing how many singleton hot dog buns were carefully nestled in the freezer. Ever since we started the annoying habit of scrawling the freezer entry date on the plastic storage bags, we are appalled by how long we hold onto things. I doubt if we took such care with our children’s preschool art projects. I have already bored you with the fun fact that our 10th Anniversary Commemorative tin of Old Bay Seasoning was only replaced upon the 20th Anniversary. I doubt there is much of a re-sale market for vintage Old Bay. Let alone the 2-years-past-its-sell-by-date long-life milk carton that I just found it the back of the fridge. I had bought it for a hurricane a few years ago, and naively assumed it was good forever. Last week I discovered the August 2019 date stamped on it. Whoops.

Now that the fridge is in relative apple pie order, this weekend we will tackle organizing the pantry. Aren’t you glad you have to stay home and can’t drop by to visit?

When we aren’t trying to come to grips with our squirrelly behavior we do long for the good old days of jumping in the car and going to a restaurant. My final meal would be spaghetti from a great red sauce, family-run Italian restaurant in Stamford, Connecticut: Pellicci’s.* Pellicci’s was our family’s go-to spot for celebrations. It had red and white tablecloths and amiable, voluble owners who would always greet my father like he was their long-lost cousin. My brother and I would tuck into the spaghetti with gusto. We still like to eat there whenever I get up to Connecticut. It reminds us of our childhoods, and the meals we shared with our parents, back when our big decision was whether to have spaghetti or pizza.

Most Friday nights Mr. Friday and I make homemade pizza. We have perfected the dough and the baking time over the years. Last weekend we decided to branch out in our fantasy restaurant world and try, again, to make homemade pasta. If we can’t go to Pellicci’s, we could bring Pellicci’s here. While there was no waitstaff who were delighted to see us, we made a credible meal. It was an adventure in dining that was diverting and delicious. And we whiled away another evening in isolation.

Luckily, you can do this, too. Go look in your pantry, and grab the flour. If your fridge is nicely organized you will know where to find the eggs, just like us. The olive oil is on the counter near the stove, along with the container of salt. We cheated and used a jar of Rao’s marinara sauce, which was also in the pantry. If you have a little more time on your hands, and who doesn’t, make your own pasta sauce. But we were intent on survival – not completely re-inventing the wheel. I know Mr. Pellicci wouldn’t mind if we scrimped this once.

Mix eggs, flour, oil, and salt in the bowl of a stand mixer with your hands until a shaggy dough forms. Knead with dough hook until dough is smooth and elastic, about 10 minutes. Cover dough with plastic wrap and let rest at least 30 minutes. Cut and roll as desired.

We used the fancy Kitchen-Aid pasta attachment for rolling out the fettuccine. We managed to dust flour all over the kitchen, but it was fun. Heavens to Betsy. Do you remember fun? It was as good as Play-doh. But this time around, you can eat it. And Instagram it!

Add some grated cheese, some cheesy Dean Martin music, a little antipasto (celery sticks work fine) and some modest red wine. Check out the bread collection in your freezer; you might unearth something resembling garlic bread. Enjoy! You have acquired a new skill, learned how to make a new dish, and had a virtual dining out experience. And we will all muddle through.

Are you feeling spring-y? I am feeling anxious because we are not cooped up in a fifth-floor-walkup in New York City, where my dog walking would be the sole outings for the day. I am lucky to have a back yard, with a garden that is beckoning me to come out and weed and thin seedlings. The hydrangeas are greening up. The tomatoes are in. I’m transferring the daffodil bulbs from containers into places in the yard where the daff display was a little sparse this year. I can sit out on the back porch and enjoy some sunshine with my sandwich at lunch, and watch the dogwood blossoms dancing in the spring breeze.

The fact that I am not feeling spring-y reflects the difficult times the world is experiencing. I need to thank my lucky stars for this glorious spring weather, and knuckle down to at least go through the motions of preparing for Easter. No Easter egg hunts this year. And I can’t justify buying jelly beans if I am not going to be tucking them into anyone’s Easter baskets. And Peeps? They hardly count as essential. I toyed with the idea of trying to make homemade Peeps. There is a highly amusing Bon Appétit video about Claire Saffitz recreating Peeps, but when I looked at the ingredient list I was pretty sure that neither I, nor you, Gentle Reader, has a secret stash of gelatin or potato starch in our pantries. Next year, that’s when we will make Peeps from scratch, and eschew store-bought.

One thing we do have in abundance is fresh eggs. We are a Farm Family, and once a month we get two dozen eggs and a whole chicken from our favorite poultry farmer. And they are such beauties! I don’t know how many chickens they have laying eggs, because every month we get another array of jewel toned-eggs: green, blue, brown, pale beige, rust, speckles. We won’t need to dye any eggs this year, the natural colors are quite beauteous without any chemical enhancement.

Eggs by themselves are charming, joyous and symbolic. Add some of the precious ingredients from our pantries, and larders, and we can make all sorts of Easter delights without offending the hard-working grocery clerks with our whimsical caprices. Surely they wouldn’t begrudge us Challah, or bacon, or English muffins? Whereas they might have looked askance if we had asked the whereabouts of potato starch

Behold, the Spy Test Kitchen’s Easter Breakfast Listicle for the Season of Social-Distancing and Self-isolation. Use Zoom to add friends, relatives and acquaintances liberally. And remember, breakfast can be eaten at any time of the day. Be creative. Add Champagne.

Having burrowed deep into our self-isolation I am feeling a little bereft. There are so many problems in the world which are huge and looming and frightening. My little hill of beans is pretty inconsequential. After wallowing in Contagion, and skirting Chernobyl, I have opted for a little light humor and armchair travel. We are enjoying the absurdity of Travel Man, (on Hulu and Amazon Prime) where Richard Ayoade travels to glam spots around the globe and eats and drinks delightful comestibles. He does this with a cute British accent, in charming company, and on an expense account. It sounds like the perfect job assignment.

The Spy’s budget is a little more restrictive. As is my itinerary. I can sneak out a couple of times a week to tear quickly through the grocery store, which is 1.2 miles from our house. The supplies there are limited, too. But this week I was able to score a pound of bacon and some lovely vermillion slicing tomatoes. I am going to treat myself to a nice lunch, much like the ones I used to enjoy in 2019. It’s time for homemade BLTs; my fave.

I love BLTs. Bacon, lettuce, tomato, with a judicious schmear of mayonnaise is my dream lunch. Throw in a generous serving crispy wavy potato chips and a Diet Coke and you cannot possibly ask for anything more. Club sandwiches have a certain appeal, I know, but they are awkward to eat; all that bread. There are multiple layers which just yield to disappointment and crumbling. And the turkey goes sliding, and things fall apart, and inevitably you wind up using your fingers. Which is never a good look if you happen to be on a first date. But who is dating in April of 2020, anyway? Let’s stick with the tried and true; the very essentials.

Let’s start with the bacon. Since this is Friday, I say we can go wild and each have four pieces of bacon. I like cooking bacon on parchment paper on a cookie sheet. I preheat the oven to 425° F. I try to use thick-cut applewood smoked bacon. At this point in our sequestering I am very happy with the store brand, however. We must not be snobs. If you can hunt and gather thick-cut bacon, lucky you, cook it for about 15 minutes without supervision. You might want to flip it, so the juicy, crunchy, wavy nature of bacon is completely optimized. So do not go on a Twitter-rant and lose track of time. If you wind up using thinner bacon, keep an eye on the oven and check every few minutes. Bacon can self-immolate without much notice. And burnt bacon is beyond repair.

Bread is important, too. I like either Pepperidge Farm white bread, or a nice deli rye. Some people are fancy and want to use challah, or pumpernickle, or croissants. It is a personal choice, based on your childhoods, and your degree of pretense. Please lightly toast the bread, and spread each slice with a light, even coating of Hellmann’s mayonnaise, or Duke’s, if you grew up with it.

Tomatoes must be red and juicy and absolutely grown outside in good dirt with lots of sunshine. So obviously the best BLTs are constructed in the summer, with your own sun-warmed tomatoes. You might need to use your imagination in April, with whatever produce your grocery store has been able to snag from local suppliers. (I put our tomato plants in the raised-bed garden last weekend, and am hoping for the best, and that I didn’t plant them too early.) Use a couple of tomato slices for each sandwich. It really isn’t all about the bacon – you need tomato juice running down your chin and onto your pajamas to get the full experience of BLTs in the time of quarantine.

Lettuce is simple. Every refrigerator, despite the best efforts of the Bon Appétit-reading aspirational cook, has at least one head of iceberg lettuce. It’s in the back, near the baking soda and the bacon grease can. Tear off a few crunchy leaves and wash, gently, in cool restorative water. Blot carefully. Do not even contemplate substituting rocket or endive or Romaine lettuce. This is sacred.

Layering is important – toast, mayonnaise, bacon, tomato slices, lettuce, mayonnaise, toast. Slice on the diagonal. Serve on a large plate, with a towering pile of potato chips and a slice of dill pickle. Add a glass of Diet Coke, or chocolate milk is you really want to be decadent. Add a cloth napkin, and whatever book you are currently reading. I am reading an autobiography of one of Princess Margaret’s ladies-in-waiting. It is chock-full of snobs, scandal and vicious gossip; priceless commodities these days.*

If the BLT isn’t your favorite sandwich in the whole wide world I feel very sorry for you. But the idea here is to treat yourself to something nice. Maybe you would rather have a hot grilled cheese with some tomato soup. I don’t often cook lunch for myself. I usually wander into the kitchen and rummage through the fridge for last night’s leftovers, or pull out a jar of peanut butter and a sleeve of Ritz crackers. Pathetic.

If you are able to, treat yourself to an unexpected nice meal. We all need a little cheering up. And a BLT will certainly put a smile on your face.